


Sing Me a Song of Love

by ImTheWolfOfND



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, The Song of Achilles - Freeform, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImTheWolfOfND/pseuds/ImTheWolfOfND
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This and this and this...</p><p>---</p><p>Patroclus is skinny, defenseless, and small, with a father who drinks too much and loves too little and a mother who can't feel anything. He's a quiet sophomore just waiting for a hero to save him from the broken shell of what used to be his home. <br/>When he meets Achilles, he believes everything is going to be okay. And everything is -- until it isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing Me a Song of Love

Patroclus sighed softly as he got on the overcrowded school bus that would take him to his first day at a new school. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. Most of them were most likely going to the middle school that was only a block away from the high school, so they were not used to older kids being on the bus with them. The only kids from the high school riding the bus would be freshman, unlike Patroclus, who was a sophomore. Other sophomores would have their license or have older siblings that could drive them to school. Patroclus had neither, and he suddenly felt shame having to ride the bus. 

Patroclus was strange. For a 15 year old boy, he was small: arms and legs skinny and lanky, knees knobby, hair short and above his ears, chest that looked like a young boy’s. He hadn’t grown into his form yet, and his father feared he never would. He had on pants that were far too big for him and a plain, baggy gray shirt. His shoes were beat up and broken, the same ones his father had gotten him three years before. He needed new ones, he knew that, but to ask his father for the money to buy him new shoes was like asking an oppressive king to give a lowly peasant as much as a scrap of his leftovers. He was scraped up, had a black eye that looked out of place on such a smooth, young face. He didn’t like to fight, but there were some people that wouldn’t let him get away without doing just that. 

This was the second new school he’d been to in the past year. His mother said this was the last time they’d move for a while, but that wasn’t her choice. That was my father’s. There was a good psychiatric hospital in this town, simply for Patroclus’ mother, so Patroclus knew they wouldn’t move away until the hospital stopped treating his mother. Or until Patroclus’ father ran out of money to pay the hospital. Patroclus decided the former was a better bet. His mother, while she was very caring and kind, suffered from bipolar depression. She got better for a while at the last place they went, but then she had gotten worse because his father had taken away her medication, stating it was making her crazier. So she had gotten worse. His father had blamed the hospital. They moved. Then again after that. Now they were here, somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania in a large house that his father wouldn’t be able to afford if he didn’t own a chain of restaurants that went through almost every state in the United States, and some places in Canada.   
Patroclus swallowed as he sat down toward the front of the bus, ready to get off as soon as he could. He heard the murmurs behind him and bit his bottom lip to keep from saying something. His backpack was heavy and weighed down with school supplies he had bought with the Christmas money from his father he had gotten more than a year ago. He hadn’t had the opportunity to go out and get anything else, so he saved it. But, unfortunately, he had used up all his notebooks writing stories and poems, so he needed new ones. 

He felt someone’s eyes staring daggers in the back of his head and glanced around. A young boy, pudgy and tall, was staring at him, studying him. Patroclus looked back toward the front. He knew the boy would try to pick a fight, but Patroclus got off before him, so he would be fine. No need to start a fight.

Patroclus pulled a book out of his bag and sunk down in the seat, reading it until the bus stopped. When it finally did, in front of the large high school, he got off immediately. A few freshman trickled out behind him, but, as he assumed, most of the kids were going to the middle school down the road. Patroclus glanced around at everyone. Nobody really noticed him; it was a large school, he found, they probably got new kids all the time. It was sunny out, not strange for a February in Pennsylvania, but the temperature was around thirty degrees. 

As Patroclus made his way to the entrance of the school, he observed things. He saw different groups of girls, huddled together, giggling and speaking in hushed voices. Some were wearing regular clothes, some cheerleading outfits. Older boys were hanging around the flag pole, watching two boys who were wrestling in the snow, laughing, having fun. Patroclus noticed a group of what must be freshman gathered around one boy, listening to him intently as he spoke. The boy had golden hair and dark skin, and he was talking very animatedly. Patroclus stopped to watch him for a moment. The boy couldn’t have been older than Patroclus, with a fair face that had sharp angles, skin that had obviously never been bruised as Patroclus’ had. Patroclus watched him curiously. He was broken out of his reverie by the bell that rang. He blinked and managed to get inside before the large herd of people rushed in and trampled him like bulls. He was supposed to find the main office. 

He stuck close to the edge of the crowd, anxiously gripping the straps of his backpack, so tight his knuckles were turning white. He didn’t like high school. Too many people. He tried to push through the crowd to where he thought the office might be, but he ended up just getting shoved out of the way again. 

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He flinched hard and looked over at who had touched him. He had a thing about personal space, and, at the moment, this “someone” was invading his comfort zone. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat. 

“You look lost,” the boy from outside, with the golden hair and unblemished face, said, not really smiling but still looking amused. “You must be new, right?”

Patroclus cleared his throat, eyes wide, staring at the boy. The boy raised his eyebrows, prompting Patroclus to respond. He waited a minute before nodding slightly. The boy nodded back. He took his hand of Patroclus’ shoulder and Patroclus could breathe again. Instead, the boy stuck his hand out. 

“I’m Achilles, and you are?” He asked, properly, as if he’d done this before. He probably has, Patroclus thought, noting the way the boy seemed completely unfazed by the lack of words making their way out of Patroclus’ mouth. Suddenly, the boy’s name registered with Patroclus and he started laughing, but just barely. Achilles’ mouth turned down at the corners and folded his arms across his chest defiantly. “Something wrong with my name?” He asked, challenging Patroclus to make fun of his name. Patroclus shook his head, but couldn’t stop the smile that lingered. 

“My name’s Patroclus,” he said, quietly, wondering if Achilles would understand why Patroclus thought it was so funny. After Achilles’ silence dragged on, Patroclus started to wonder if maybe Achilles really didn’t understand. Achilles studied him for a few more seconds before his face broke into a wide smile. 

“I thought you were pulling my leg there for a second,” Achilles laughed out and Patroclus allowed a small smile to play across his face. “Jesus, that’s good.” He stuck his hand out again and said, “Well, then, nice to meet you, Patroclus, my comrade.” 

Patroclus let his smile grow and took Achilles’ hand, shaking it once. “Nice to meet you, too, Achilles.”

Achilles sighed and let their hands fall. “So, I’m assuming you’re looking for the office?” 

Patroclus just nodded, didn’t say anything else. He didn’t like talking. He never had. He wasn’t allowed to talk much at home, so he’d just gotten accustomed to saying everything in his head or writing everything down. Achilles looked around. The crowd had thinned out, everyone heading to their first hour classes, which, Patroclus thought, Achilles should be doing, as well. 

“I’ll show you to the office, then,” he said, smiling. He started walking, not waiting for Patroclus, assuming Patroclus would just follow him. And, after a few moments, Patroclus did. Achilles led him to the office, which was, as Patroclus had guessed, down the hall in the middle of the school. He told the secretary, Mrs. Miller (whom Achilles called by name, Patroclus noticed), who Patroclus was. She just smiled and handed Patroclus his schedule. 

“Achilles will show you around today,” she said. “We received all of your paperwork, so we don’t need to ask you anymore questions. Thank you for stopping by.” She looked at Achilles. “Meet him at every one of his classrooms when the bell rings, and bring him to every class.”

Achilles nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled at her and looked at Patroclus. “What’s your first class, then?”

Patroclus showed him. Achilles hummed. “Ah, English with Mr. Jax,” he said, shrugging. “He’s alright, nothing special. C’mon.” He grabbed Patroclus’ arm and started dragging him to the classroom, quickly. Patroclus stiffened in his grip, but Achilles either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He stopped in front of a classroom. The second bell had already rang and Achilles looked at Patroclus, head tilted to the side. He fixed a stray hair, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you after class. I’ll be right here when you get out.” He nudged Patroclus toward the door, and Patroclus stepped forward once. He glanced back, hand on the doorknob, and Achilles was still standing there, smiling. He nodded at him. “Go on, comrade. Kick it in the ass.” With that, Patroclus opened the door and stepped into the classroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters, nor do I own the story of which this is based on. The Song of Achilles is beautiful and wonderful, and I would loved to have written it myself, but I didn't, so here is my contribution to the wonderful fandom.


End file.
